Innocent but Not Afraid
by Pantherstrike
Summary: Draco does not want to be marked and finds a way to be rid of the deatheaters but for a price. Lucius is enraged and literally goes insane. It's a Drarry but Harry's more of a background charcter.


Draco grinned as best he could from his hiding spot. Today was the day he was supposed to be marked. He'd lost all yearning for that position thank you very much. Although his boyfriend frequently told him to 'stop being so damn arrogant all the time'. He felt a pang in his chest. Harry could do so much better than him. He knew the boy would be angry and heart-broken once this was all over but then Harry could find true love. He could have a family with someone his adopted family liked, with someone brave and noble and cared for him. After all, with the stunt he was about to pull, there would be a lot less death eaters to worry about fighting.

He didn't expect to survive long enough to spend the rest of his days with Harry anyway.

Draco's eyes glowed. He'd been practicing his Animagus form all year and now he had the little black cat down perfectly. He heard footsteps and pressed lower to the ground as his bastard of a father sat down in the armchair Draco was hiding under. He heard voices coming closer as many others came into the room. He bristled unconsciously at Bellatrix's voice. It should've been her that died! His mother was innocent and strong. Bella should've been the one not her!

He counted the pairs of shoes. Everyone was here. Everyone except the dark Lord himself; although Draco knew it was only a matter of time. His muzzled turning in a smug smile when his father summoned a house elf to go collect Draco from his room. Now all he had to do was wait and bid his time.

With a crack a wailing house elf came and knelt beside the chair. "Pipy is sorry master Malfoy. The young master is not being in his room!"

The cane shot sparks as Lucius slammed it down as he surged up in rage blocking the view of the chair. The cornered the house elf with a fierce glare. "Where. Is He?" The others looked on, some amused some pitying.

"Pipy does not know Sir! Master Draco is gone!" No one paid any attention to the black cat that slinked into the arm of the chair, with silver eyes and a green collar.

"Find him!"

Draco transformed back and stretched out in his father's armchair, out of view of everyone else. "No need to shout. I'm right here."

All eyes turned to him. Draco twirled his wand lazily. "I wonder how snake face is going to take it when he realizes that the Malfoy heir is a traitor. It won't make you look good that's for sure."

Oh how he enjoyed the look on his father's face. Bellatrix looked ready to faint or murder him. Other's just looked gleeful at the prospect of Lucius being Nagini's dinner.

"and while I'm at it, I'm gay and in love with a Gryffindor half-blood. Oh that stings doesn't it? And if I survive the night, I'm joining the Order." Taking a breath he quickly uttered the final implements of his plan before he was blasted to bits.

"Relegatum quae vivens mortuus ut quae mortuus terram de vivens. Ego relegatum tibi ut facere meum maiores pro tibi habere ignominia nobis. Nos judica tibi in a terram peius quam inferos."

_Banish the living dead to the dead land of living. I banish you as do my ancestors for you have disgraced us. We sentence you in a land worse than hell._

The floor started to quiver as the magic of the manor and the magic of the empty picture frames he's stuck on the wall obeyed his commands. Magic swirled around the room and built higher and higher. The deatheaters cast spells in panic but all were sucked into the magical void. Then there was a crack as the pent up magic burst and the room was empty, save for Draco and his father. All people not of Malfoy blood were gone. Bellatrix was screeching from her newfound home inside a portrait frame and the wands of the deatheaters rolled on the floor.

Draco absent mindedly silenced the panicked men and women inside their frames. They weren't dead but trapped. Frozen. He sat up in the armchair and wobbled. His energy was sapped. He stared into the matching silver eyes. He fully expected to die, but he was going to die like a Malfoy.

He stood on shaky legs and held his chin up high. He gave one last declaration of love to Harry, hoping somehow the boy could hear his thoughts. He cast an easily dodged crucio and the duel began.

Lucius vaguely recognized the way he moved and the spells he cast. He got closer and closer to his target and the tall, dignified and proud Lucius Malfoy lunged in pure rage and smashed the weakened wizard's head against the tiles. A crash was heard as the Order broke the main door down too late as the other's skull was smashed against the floor again and again until a dark red stained the floor. Footsteps entered the parlor and Lucius looked down again and saw his son, saw himself, his own face looking back at him. Then he only saw red. On his hands and on his robes. On the floor and on his mirror image, on his counterpart on his wife's greatest treasure.

There was a shuffling of footsteps behind him and he knew faintly that he would forever see the grey walls of Azkaban . He would see the red of blood on his hands everywhere he went, the blood of his son, his wife, of those nameless, faceless ones.

There was a muttered spell, a flash of light and all he saw was black.

There wasn't a funeral.

When they got the body, they stuck it in a coffin and buried it on the Malfoy lands. Not many went to the gravesite either. No one still really knows what happened. Lucius is in jail awaiting trail and questioning. It's practically useless though. All he does is stare at his hands. Some of the guard s have betting pools on when he will finally starve.

So the cemetery remains empty.

Except for one, who goes there every day with a Gryffindor blanket and a Slytherin scarf and sits. And cries. Silent little tears of true despair. But only sometimes.

Then one day he couldn't go because it was raining and everyone told him not too. They kept him occupied instead. There were Quidditch games and a little golden snitch that made him want to fly higher and higher…

So they kept him busy. He didn't mind. He knew they cared. Then he went only every other day. Once every week. Then he didn't go at all. People though he was improving. And he was. Moving on.

But he still thought about the memories. And still sometimes, late at night he would cry into the pillow.

But he had someone who would roll over and hold him and wipe his tears away and tell him it's okay to cry because everyone needs to cry because everyone can cry over their dead mothers. Even Malfoy's.


End file.
